


all that we are is the greatest of victories

by HotelRaleigh



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Nancy Drew (Video Games), Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene, Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Super Mysteries - Franklin W. Dixon & Carolyn Keene
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Growing Up Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotelRaleigh/pseuds/HotelRaleigh
Summary: Smiling slyly, she pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of thin air. No, not paper. A napkin.Shit."'The Mysterious Case of Nancy Drew's Unlimited Energy.'" She reads and Frank considers getting back on the train. Maybe they could drop him at Copper Gorge and he could spend the rest of his life flipping burgers. It sounded quite peaceful, if you ask him.
Relationships: Frank Hardy & Joe Hardy, Frank Hardy/Callie Shaw (mentioned), Joe Hardy/Iola Morton, Nancy Drew & Joe Hardy, Nancy Drew/Frank Hardy, Nancy Drew/Ned Nickerson (mentioned)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	all that we are is the greatest of victories

**Author's Note:**

> Very flexible timeline:
> 
> i. middle-school aged  
> ii. set during Last Train to Blue Moon Canyon  
> iii. set during Tropic of Fear (ND/HB supermystery)  
> iv. mid 20s  
> v. early 30s

i.

When people ask her about their first meeting, Nancy Drew always says she had a feeling she and the Hardy Boys would be life-long friends. But if she were to be perfectly honest - and she would be with the brothers a decade or so later - the first time she spoke with Frank and Joe Hardy, she kinda wanted to knee them in the balls.

At eleven-years-old, Nancy could recite all of the adjectives adults used to describe her when they thought she wasn't listening: precocious, stubborn, wild, independent, unruly, and - her personal favorite - unladylike.

(This received a particularly loud scoff from Carson Drew and a prompt visit to the local library for any and all books they had on famous female heroines.)

Suffice to say, while she’s used to people consistently and uniformly underestimating her, it still doesn’t make it any less tiresome.

Especially when it comes from boys.

And especially when that _particular_ boy is only slightly older than her and only slightly less talented than her.

"The tracks lead this way." Frank Hardy's insufferable, nasally voice is starting to give her a headache.

"Nope - definitely that way." She points towards the train tracks to her left, the trampled dandelions and crumpled leaves clear indicators of unnatural disturbances.

For what feels like the millionth time that day, she hears Frank's sigh and almost sees red. "Listen, Nancy. Our dad's been teaching us all about this stuff since forever. And I just got back from forensics camp last week, so -"

"That was just our regular camp, Frankie, and they only had, like, one day of detective stuff." Joe Hardy interrupts his brother, scuffing his already dirty converse in the grass but pointedly not making eye contact with either of them. Luckily, he misses the dirty look his brother shoots his way.

"Not important. What is important is finding Robin before it gets dark. And she went that way. Which means we're going that way." At this, Frank decides their conversation is over and begins stomping off in the direction of Tripp Street. Nancy stares at him for a moment, biting her cheek to keep all of the swear words she's carefully compiled over the years bottled in. Turning on her heel, she marches towards the tracks - back straight and head held up high. She’s right. She doesn’t have to prove it to anyone, especially not Franklin Whatever Hardy.

Nancy only lets herself turn back when she hears Joe's name sharply called. Watching the boy look helplessly between the two older kids, she wonders if he's actually ever gone against his brother before. Regardless, today would not be one for the books either, as he shoots her a brief apologetic look before scurrying to catch up with the older Hardy.

It’s no bother to her, though.

Nancy Drew trudges on, as she always does, to follow the clues.

***

"I don't understand why you would just leave her out there!" Fenton Hardy exclaims, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he takes another sharp turn. "The one thing I always ask of you and your brother is to never split up. I assumed you would know that that included Nancy as well!"

Frank, tight-lipped in the passenger seat, keeps his eyes on the sidewalk beside him. He’s practically the personification of calm, if not for the frantic dance his fingers play on his leg. He refuses to look at his father, though.

They turn another street corner and Fenton sighs. "I'm disappointed Frank. I thought you boys and Nancy would get along -"

Frank would have flinched at the word ‘disappointment’ (arguably one of the worst words in the English language, if you asked him) if he didn’t, at that exact moment, spot a lone figure down the road they’re just about to pass right by. "Dad, stop the car!”, the proclamation followed by Frank's immediate and ungraceful exit from the car.

(Of course, he had already done the calculations of the car's speed and subsequent consequences but unfortunately did not deem it necessary nor productive to inform his father of such before following through.)

"Frank, god damn -!" is luckily all Frank hears before his feet land squarely on the pavement and he’s off, back towards the street. He slows his approach and finally comes to a stop a couple of feet in front of Nancy Drew.

Nancy Drew, who's shoes and socks are caked in mud. Nancy Drew, who's normally tidy, wavy red hair is currently hosting a home for wayward twigs and leaves. Nancy Drew, who holds a shivering black beagle in the safe cocoon of her previously spotless jacket.

Frank stares as she blows an errant hair out of the way, her face breaking out into what can only be described as a ‘shit-eating’ grin. "I told you Robin followed the train tracks."

He blinks once.

Twice.

And then Frank grins.

ii.

Frank Hardy frowns down at the napkin, confused for only a moment at the black ink spot that bleeds through one side to the other. Finishing his scribble, he holds his head in his hands, squinting at the words to see if they make any sense now.

They still don’t.

It’s all an enigma, really.

"Figure it out yet?" His brother's presence suddenly beside him shakes Frank out of his daydreams and he scrunches the napkin up in his hands quickly.

"Figure what out." Frank squints.

Joe snorts. "Man I found your list like hours ago, come on." At his brother's disbelieving scoff, Joe frowns. "Do you know how rude it is every time you and Nancy seem to forget that I'm ALSO a detective?"

Ignoring him, the older Hardy unfurls the napkin once more, pressing the crumpled edges down obsessively.

"My bet's still on a disorder that only requires her to sleep, like, two hours a night." Shifting the chair out from under the table they've been stuck at for hours now, Joe almost nosedives into Frank's lap as the train comes to an abrupt and unpleasant halt. They barely have time to share a grimace before both heads swivel in the direction of the commotion outside of their train car. Swift footsteps, getting louder and louder until -

A flash of tan corduroy pants and fiery red hair.

"I found Lori."

Frank blinks.

Joe groans.

"Did you bring us here just to embarrass us, Nan?!"

***

In what feels like no time at all, the trio is back on solid ground. After a brief anxiety attack on Frank's part upon realizing Nancy Drew was most definitely no longer on their moving, cross-country bound train (and a subsequent blood oath from Joe that he would never tell a soul about That Incident), the boys sprung into action. They quickly realized their dramatics were unnecessary as they finally discovered their friend: Lori sprawled out in the mud as she whined and Nancy sat cross-legged on the overturned mine cart, a Tom Swift book in her hands.

(Frank never did find out where she had been keeping the book the whole time.)

Now Frank sits beside the two other teens in the train station: Nancy waiting for an actual train back to Illinois and the Hardy boys waiting on plane tickets that will get them to New York. Joe snores, his head dangerously perched on the edge of the bench and Nancy reads, her nimble fingers turning page after page until the words blur in front of his eyes. And Frank?

Well, Frank sits on his hands and resists the urge to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He shakes his head roughly.

"Is your dad gonna pick you up in Chicago?" He can't help himself, interrupting her quiet concentration. He's been counting down each second until her train leaves, and they only have so much time left together. Who knows when they'll get called on a case again, let alone just see each other?

Nancy dog-ears her current page. Frank tries not to flinch.

(They'd gotten into such a vicious argument over it last year, she didn't talk to him for a month.)

"No, he's in Maryland for a convention. He'll probably get back a little after I do." Crossing her legs gracefully, she rests an elbow on her knee, her head in her hand and her gaze on him. Only on him.

Frank gulps. "So...a cab then?" He swears he's not fishing, it's just - they've never been good at this small talk thing. It's always been about the case. Or their skills. Or the world. There seems to be no in-between for the two of them.

All or nothing. The way it's always been.

If he's honest, it kind of terrifies him. He's never met anyone like Nancy. He never wants to meet anyone like Nancy again.

"Ned's gonna be there, I'm pretty sure." Nancy furrows her brow, as if just remembering something. As if just remembering Ned.

Ned.

The boyfriend.

"My boyfriend." She explains, and he just nods. Because of course she has a boyfriend. And of course his name is Ned.

( _Ned._ )

"Cool, cool." So not decidedly cool, Joe would say. But Frank just nods again. He feels like his head is stuck on a swivel.

"Oh, I think this is yours by the way." Her tone makes him look up, finally making eye contact for the first time since they'd gotten off that stupid train. Smiling slyly, she pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of thin air. No, not paper. A napkin.

Shit.

"'The Mysterious Case of Nancy Drew's Unlimited Energy.'" She reads and Frank considers getting back on the train. Maybe they could drop him at Copper Gorge and he could spend the rest of his life flipping burgers. It sounded quite peaceful, if you ask him.

He coughs and considers blaming Joe. "I -"

"You're funny." Nancy grins and his heart does a quick restart. Funny. Nancy Drew thinks  _ he's  _ funny. "I particularly like 'snorts nearly lethal doses of adderall on the daily.' Joe's suggestion, I presume."

Frank lets out a sigh, his shoulders sagging and a sheepish smile on his face. "Mine, actually." A snort escapes her, a fact that seems to surprise both of them. And then they're both lost to quiet laughing, trying their best not to wake up the sleeping boy next to them.

"So, am I ever going to know? Or will this forever be my unsolved mystery, the one that will haunt me until I retire?" He's calmed down a bit now, can feel the tension seeping out of him as they find themselves closer to each other now. Things feel normal now. Better.

"I actually have a sleep disorder - barely need any of it." She shrugs, straight-faced. Damn, he'd kill for her poker face.

"Wow, so Joe actually beats me for once." Frank shoots his brother a faux grimace. "Good thing he's asleep or he'd never let me live it down."

"Our little secret then." And it's the way she says it, a little breathy and far too close for all of the things it could mean.

(Should mean. Will mean.)

Frank just stares for a moment, a little awe-struck and a little weary. It's just - she's just.

Indescribable.

Undecipherable.

Utterly and completely fantastic.

"You want the truth?" Her words jolt him back to this space. He nods dumbly. "I just...I just love it, Frank. I love everything we do. Every case, every person, every clue, every mystery - everything, all of it." Nancy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Frank waits, feels as if they're on a precipice together, poised to jump. "I get this overwhelming feeling every time I start a new case. I feel so immensely, so entirely grateful that I found what I love most in the world already."

She opens her eyes and looks at him.

"You know what I mean?"

Frank falls.

"Yeah. I think I do."

iii.

_I'm afraid he drowned._

That's what the man had said, she knows it. She hears the words reverberate, bouncing against the confines of her mind. She hears each word, understands each independent of the other. But she cannot understand the totality of their meaning.

_I'm afraid he drowned._

Because there is no way the words could be true. Because that means -

_I'm afraid he drowned._

Frank Hardy is dead.

Nancy blinks once, unsure of how much time she’s spent trying to _hear_. Her eyes wander aimlessly, following a trail of nothing. But there _is_ something, she knows there is, if only -

Joe.

Her gaze finds his bulky frame immediately and she can practically feel the waves of tension radiating off of him as he fights a losing battle against the ropes that still hold his - their, actually - wrists together tightly. Jaw tense, eyes unsteadily flickering between Tanga's goons and the man himself; so he’s still hell bent on vengeance it seems. 

Nancy knows though (only because of the years they've spent together, the innumerable times Frank's life has been threatened before) that he’s barely holding it together, his shaking hands - the ones she would grasp onto if only she could make her body move again - the only tell.

So while Joe boils with rage, Nancy remains numb. Well, perhaps not numb - no, that isn't right. She’s felt anger comparable to Joe's before, defiance on par with Luke Kilauea's, fear parallel to Bess and George's. She’s felt all of this and so much more, regardless of what others might think of her outward appearances.

(Cold.)   
(Calculating.)   
(Unsympathetic.)   
(Psychopathic.)   
(Not human.)

She’s felt all of it, so strong it threatens to burn her from the inside out. And these feelings are important, necessary, unavoidable. Inevitable, or so her therapist tells her. 

But what they aren't, right now at least, is productive.

Anger cannot untie the knots, no matter how hard Joe strains. Defiance will not protect Hawaii from colonizers, no matter how determined Luke is. Fear will not protect them from death, no matter how much Bess cries and George screams.

Fear, anger, defiance will not bring him -

_I'm afraid he drowned._

Frank Hardy is dead. And she wants to scream her soul out of her body. Instead, she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, opens them slowly.

And then Nancy Drew does what she does best. 

She survives.

***

Later, after the police have gotten her statement (over and over again), after Captain Morita reluctantly thanks them for their help (while simultaneously inferring it would be best for them to stay away from Hawaii for a little bit), after Carson Drew springs for all five of the American teens to stay in the Grand Hawaiian for their last night, Nancy watches their ragtag group eat dinner and attempt to recover from the trauma of their collective near-death experiences.

(Carson lets them each get a drink, as some sort of recompense, of which they are all immensely grateful.)

As the dinner winds down, Bess urges the rest of them to join her for their last late-night luau. While Nancy respects her coping mechanism (loud noise and lots of people can drown out the intrusive thoughts pretty well), she isn’t sure she can handle another minute of being around people.

Refusing eye contact, she excuses herself and makes her way back to her solitary room for the night.

And then she sits there, for what feels like an eternity.

Nancy tries not to think about death a lot of the time if she can help it. She’s been put in danger so many times now, forced to face her own mortality over and over again, that it barely phases her any more. And she knows it isn’t okay, isn't healthy, isn't...right.

It isn't that she doesn't fear death. It isn't that she doesn’t think of how devastated her father, her friends would be if she’s gone. It’s just...

It just never seems as important to her as the thrill of the case.

And that? That scares the absolute shit out of her.

A knock at the hotel door, so soft she thinks she might have dreamt it, tears her from the frantic thoughts. Reluctantly dragging herself out of the blanket cocoon she’s formed around herself, she checks the peep hole out of habit (just because she’s tired doesn’t mean she has a death wish).

Frank Hardy hadn't drowned.

Frank Hardy wasn't dead.

Frank Hardy stands before her now, hands shoved deep into his pockets, a grimace trying to be played off as a smile on his face.

He looks exhausted.

She wants to cry.

Instead she turns around, leaving the door open behind her. An invitation - or, perhaps, an acquiescence.

"How you holding up?" She wants to laugh at how cavalier he’s trying to be. So nonchalant. So not on the level of what their experience has been. He joins her in the blanket fort, taking up as little space as possible on the corner of her bed. Still setting these boundaries. Even now.

She sighs. "Not great, Frank. But I can imagine you're about the same."

He shrugs. She almost slaps him.

"Please don't do that, Frank. Please don't, I can't -" She shudders violently and curls her fingers tightly around the blanket under her. She has to say something otherwise she'll burst. "We thought you were dead. They told us you had died - you had drowned, and -"

She feels him before she sees him, his weight a solid presence at her side. Blinking her eyes open - when did she even close them? - there he is. Alive. Lying in front of her, his hand over hers, wrestling it free from its ironclad grip.

"I know, I'm sorry." He grasps her hand in his. His eyelashes are impossibly long, but she stares at his left eyebrow instead, the one with the barest hint of a scar running through it. She's never asked him where it's from. "I'm sorry. I'm here, and I'm sorry."

They lie there, time passing without either of them really noticing.

"You almost died too, you know." His voice jolts her out of her stupor. "It's okay to think about that. To feel that. We were all there, all scared, all..." Trailing off, he sweeps one hand through her hair. It's so gentle, so unlike the way he's touched her before.

He goes to pull his hand away, as if only just realizing what he’s doing. But she grabs it swiftly, clinging onto it like a lifeline. Because that’s what he is. That’s what he’s always been. “This time it felt different, Frank. For the first time, I felt like we weren’t going to have a wrap up. A story to tell, at the end of it all.”

She watches him - watches the way his eyes trace her face, watches his gaze move to their interwoven fingers, watches her thumb idly stroke the back of his hand. She feels another scar, another story she’s never heard before. Never asked. Almost never got the chance to. 

“I thought I was gonna die without ever seeing Joe again, or - or -” Frank huffs, as if embarrassed by his inarticulation. “I thought I was gonna die and never be able to see you again, Nancy.”

The words float into the space between them, the space that shrinks and shrinks, feeling simultaneously permeable and fortified by years of history and expectations. His eyes are brown, she notes with sudden clarity, so brown it’s hard for her to make out where his pupils end. She feels his breath warm against her cheek, feels his heartbeat thudding against his neck as she gently places her hand there.

And because Nancy is tired, and sore, and heartbroken, and so utterly, utterly alive -

Her lips press softly against his, a chaste inquisition that still seems to catch both of them by surprise. He’s shaking under her hand but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she presses another kiss and a third, right at the corner of his mouth before pulling back. He looks like he’s going to cry and she’s almost there with him. But his voice comes out, strong and steady - just like Frank. 

“We’ll be okay, you know that - right? Like, whatever happens. Whatever shit we get into, whatever case gets thrown at us, whatever we do or say.” He pauses, and she watches him swallow, watches the minute flicker of his eyes to her lips. “You and I. We’re always gonna be okay.”

And for a moment she lets herself believe him.

They fall asleep in the blanket fort, tucked into one another. And in the morning, they don’t speak much as he helps her gather her things for the trip home. They don’t speak much on the car ride to the airport, and to his credit, Joe does not address the fact that he slept in their room alone. They don’t speak as goodbyes are spread around, but she feels his weight - heavy and warm - against her as she pulls him in for one final hug.

She watches Frank board a plane bound for New York, on his way back to Callie. And then she boards a plane for Illinois, back to Ned. 

And Nancy wonders if she’ll ever face a threat big enough to stop her from being a coward. 

iv.

"A cop?"

Frank sighs, his head thudding onto the steering wheel. He barely feels the force past the already throbbing pain he's had in his skull all day. Another overnight shift. He hates being a rookie.

"Nan, I -"

"A fucking cop, Frank?!" Her voice cuts through his easily, even through the static interface of the phone. "And I had to find out from Joe?"

"Listen -"

"No, you listen to me Frank Hardy. You can pull this bullshit with whoever you want, but you don't pull this shit with me. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?" 

Her tone leaves no room for disagreement, but Frank is exhausted, beaten down, and - if he’s completely honest - a bit mad that this is the first conversation they’re having in over six months. 

“Look, Nancy, I just got off a shift and I’m really not in the mood to get yelled at right now.”

She’s silent for a moment, and Frank knows she’s angry. “I’m gonna be in New York the week of the 17th - I expect an explanation then.”

And then she hangs up.

Frank leaves his head where it is for another couple of minutes before wearily turning on the car and backing out of his spot. He has a little over two weeks to prepare for Nancy Drew.

This was gonna be fun.

***

Frank feels the beginnings of another headache forming and he’s a little nauseous as he locks his car and drags his feet across the pavement, heading towards the nondescript diner. It’s not that he didn’t know this day was coming - he knows he’s been avoiding Nancy for a reason (although, it was a lot easier than he expected what with her radio silence and all). But anxiety’s been a constant companion the past eight months - well, all his life really, but just exasperated since joining...well, you know -

He stops at the door, willing his body to take over and just do what needs to be done. But he’s - he’s... 

He’s scared.

This isn’t the fear that comes from chasing down a dangerous lead and potentially putting oneself in danger. This isn’t the fear that accompanies him daily, when he hasn’t heard from Joe or Nancy for some time. No, this fear resides deeper, somewhere he’s often too afraid to venture to.

The fear of being _seen._

He’d made up enough excuses to Joe and to himself why he’s been avoiding Nancy all this time, but the real reason is - will always be - that she sees him for who he really is. She can read him like a book, can interpret his faces, his mannerisms, his voices and understand exactly what he’s trying to say. 

Or what he’s trying to hide.

It’s what makes her so god damn good at what she does.

It’s also what’s made their relationship so tense, probably since the second time they ever hung out. Because if Nancy’s so good at what she does, there’s no possible way she wouldn’t know by now how deeply and irrevocably Frank Hardy is in love with her.

And it’s why he stands outside of a nearly empty diner, closer to morning than night at this point. She’s going to see right through him. She’s going to see that Frank Hardy - genius, investigator, nerd - is absolutely and undeniably miserable.

And then she’ll leave. And he’ll be the one left to pick up the pieces of himself. 

He’s not sure how much more of that he’s got in him. 

Frank takes a deep breath and moves, letting himself in and trying not to flinch at how loud the bell reverberates. Her voice hits him in an instant.

“Frank.” Clipped, straight, pointed. He turns and tries not to breathe too audibly. Because she’s just as magnificent as the last time he saw her and Frank wonders when he turned into a masochist. 

“Hey.” Is all he gives as he makes his way over to her table, but she scoffs at him and is up in a flash, pulling him into a hug. “Just because I’m pissed at you - and I _so am_ Frank, make no mistake -” At this she jabs a finger in his side, causing him to squirm but not enough to pull away. “- doesn’t mean I’m not glad to see you.” 

He wants to hold her like this, forever. In this space before the inevitable break, before she gets down to the business of ripping him apart and waiting for him to tell her that he’s not strong enough to build himself up again. 

Instead, he takes the empty seat across from her in the decaying vinyl booth and folds his hands calmly in front of him. He taps one finger against the other hand rapidly, only stopping when he notices her watching, an air of heavy tension falling on the pair of them. 

They sit in silence for some time, Frank trying desperately to hold himself together as Nancy just stares at him, her hands wrapped casually around the coffee mug in front of her. He swallows. She doesn’t blink. He’s definitely sweating right now.

“Do you, er -” He coughs. She cocks her head to the side. “Do you want me to start, cause I -”

She swiftly cuts him off. “I was waiting for you to ask me what it’s like to be sitting across from a narc actually.”

At this, Frank rolls his eyes because - alright, he gets it, but he’s never pegged Nancy for the dramatic. Well. Not purposively, anyway. “Okay Nance, so you just want to hop into it then? You’re not gonna tell me anything Joe hasn’t already said.”

“Then why aren’t you listening!” He’s never seen her so wound up before, he thinks. She grasps the coffee mug tightly, sloshing some of the cold liquid onto her hand but she doesn’t even seem to register it. “I didn’t come here to lecture you like a petulant child, Frank. I came to understand why you sold yourself to the very system we have fought _against_ for over a decade now.”

He crosses his arms and then quickly lets them drop. He doesn’t want her accusing him of pouting next. “See, this is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t get it.” Nancy’s jaw locks and Frank quickly shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to sound patronizing, Nancy, I just…”

She leans forward in her seat, back straight and gaze focused only on him. “Explain it to me then.”

And this, truly, is what Frank’s been afraid of the whole time. Because he can’t. And she knows he can’t. He’s been fighting himself since day one of the police academy, trying to convince himself that this was the right thing to do when he knew in his gut this was all a big mistake. It’s too late, though. He’s made his proverbial bed. So, instead, he stares down at his hands and says nothing.

Nancy sighs and her voice turns cold. He’s heard it like this before, but never directed at him. Never like this. "People don't fucking trust cops, Frank, and rightfully so. And what are you gonna do, mhm? You gonna ride in like some literal white knight and 'change the system from the inside?' Cut the crap, Hardy, because we never believed that shit then and we sure as shit don't believe it now."

Frank laughs bitterly. “You don’t think I know that, Drew? You don’t think I see that everyday when I wake up at 5am and get home at midnight?” 

“Oh, boo fucking hoo. You work long hours, you’re underpaid, and you’re overworked. Welcome to any job that deals with other people.” She doesn’t give his argument credence, and she shouldn’t. He’s grasping at straws and she knows it. 

“It’s a job, Nancy. What do you want me to say?” Frank lets his hands fall heavily on the table between them, suddenly feeling farther away from her than ever before. Because doesn’t she understand? 

"I want you to tell me _why_. All you’ve given me so far is non-answers and avoidance, and honestly Frank you know me well enough to know I don’t deal well with that.” She pauses. He says nothing because she’s right. But he can’t give her what she wants. The coffee mug goes sliding to the end of the table and suddenly both her palms are in front of him and she’s nearly eye to eye with him. “I'm so angry at you I can't even breathe, Frank. You're betraying everything we said we stood for as kids."

"That's exactly the point, Nancy. We're not kids anymore. We can't play pretend, acting like we're above everything." Never let it be said that Frank Hardy can’t give it like he gets it. 

"We are not playing pretend!” She slams a fist on the table, but then quickly releases as the waitress shoots their table a warning glance. She lowers her voice, but now it’s deadly. “We are not supporting the cops trying to pollute city after city with their corruption. We are trying to reestablish a semblance of a relationship with our community. That, as investigators, our sole purpose is to help people - _all people_ \- in need. Not because we're paid, not because we have some ulterior agenda, and fucking _not_ because of some teen hero complex. But because it's the right _fucking_ thing to do."

Frank watches her breathing heavily, mouth hanging open. But there’s a small flutter in his chest, the kind he used to get when his dad would call them or a friend would reach out. The beginnings of a new mystery, the catalyst for unique adventure. He finds it in the way Nancy speaks, the way she’s always spoken about her work - their work. It used to amaze him - well, it still does. Because she’s able to articulate everything he ever feels, turn the emotions into words and into action. He hasn’t felt it in years. That thought hits him suddenly and violently. 

“When did you give up on us, Frank?” And he knows - _he knows_ \- she means their cases, their work, maybe even their friendship. But all he can hear is the regret as it drips down his throat, falling into the pit in his chest where he locked away everything to do with “Nancy Drew” right around the same time he locked away “the Hardy Boys.” They both hurt about the same, in different ways. He’s not sure how to fix this. He’s not sure where to even start. 

The Nancy he knew from ten years ago might have waited for him to figure it out, might have even held his hand through it. But she’s different now - as she should be. She’s grown up and he thought he had too. Instead, he just got older and bitter and more alone than he’s ever been before. So she gets up, tosses a couple of singles on the table and leaves him at the diner booth. 

And that’s how it ends, he thinks. She walks out the door and she’s gone forever. Sure, he’ll see her when he visits Joe, but it’ll be different. 

In that moment, Frank Hardy makes a decision. It’s tough - he hasn’t been this determined, this motivated in years. But he finds the one thing he can fight for right now. Maybe the rest will come after. 

He bolts from the booth, following behind and catching Nancy just as she is pulling out of her own parking spot. She eyes him skeptically as he jogs to her window, but rolls it down all the same. 

“I said we’d be okay.” He gets out, because he has to say it now or he’ll never, ever say it. Nancy blinks, confused for a second as the words seem to stir something in her mind. “I told you once that’d we be okay. Whatever happened, whatever shit we said - _I_ said, let’s be real.” She huffs, maybe out of annoyance but there’s a slight smile under it. He can tell. He’s always been able to tell with her. “I always keep my word, Nancy. Sometimes it just takes me a minute to get back to it.” 

Nancy Drew - fiersome Nancy Drew, with her short red hair, her freckled nose, her slightly crooked glasses, her scars and bruises - looks at him. She looks at him, Frank Hardy - cowardly Frank Hardy, with his dark brown eyes, his unkempt stubble, his loose tie, his scars and bruises - and blinks once. Then twice. And then she smiles. It’s small, subdued, but it’s there. And Frank lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. 

“You should come visit Chicago when you get a chance, Frank.” He takes a step back and she puts the car into reverse. “We may have an opening for someone with just your talents.” 

Nancy shoots him a wink and then pulls away, out onto the road and into the night.

Frank sighs, rubbing at the bags under his eyes. He’s got decisions to make.

But they’re going to be okay. 

And that will hold him for now.

v.

“Not the rhododenrons!” Joe’s cry comes from behind her, but she pays him no mind. She focuses instead on the man in front of her; she’s pushing herself near her limit, but he doesn’t seem to be getting any closer and now she’s getting pissed. Just as she’s starting to wonder if she should try throwing one of the vases (Joe will kill her, but that’s an issue for the future), another person slips by on her left, outpacing her.

“Hey! Don’t you -” She huffs out but he’s already past her, shooting a salute her way as he closes the distance between them. Unfortunately, this also means he misses the middle finger she throws his way. Well. She’ll just have to remind him later.

She watches, in both auditory frustration and subtle awe, as he tackles the other man to the ground swiftly. By the time she arrives, Frank Hardy is sitting on the man, checking his watch, and Nancy Drew huffs again as she tosses off one of her heels and chucks it at him. 

“No fair at all, Hardy. I would have totally caught him if not for these sexist contraptions.” She eyes the shoes with disgust as she sinks down on the grass to get a better look at the suspect’s face. 

Frank just grins in response, grabbing her other shoe to hold them both by the straps. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a sore loser, Drew.” He laughs as she growls at him.

“Mr. Wessley, tell him I woulda caught you if not for the heels!” Nancy groans at the man trapped under Frank’s weight.

“At least you weren’t wearing a dress.” Ryan Wessley grunts out somehow. “Also, I’d like a lawyer.”

“Probably for the best.” Frank acquiesces and pushes himself off of Wessley, brushing off his suit in the process. It’s as they’re helping him to his feet that Joe and Iola finally arrive.

“You trampled...way more flowers...than was necessary, Nan.” Joe wheezes out as he attempts to catch his breath.

Iola looks around at the four of them, unimpressed, before her gaze lands solely on her husband - of about 15 minutes. “I can’t believe you hired a man convicted of fraud in _thirteen countries_ to be our caterer.”

Joe sputters as he rights himself. “Excuse _me_ , he was _your_ brother’s suggestion, so don’t go -”

“Nancy and I can handle passing him off to authorities, okay you two?” Frank interrupts, as he most definitely does not want to get blamed for causing a fight on his brother’s wedding day. He’s already caused enough of a scene for this liking.

***

Before long, Joe and Iola are back with the guests, most likely on damage control to make sure everyone knows the wedding reception is _still_ on (and to determine if there will still be food at said reception now that their caterer is in FBI custody), and Frank and Nancy are giving the FBI whatever necessary information they need, with the understanding they’ll come in personally if they can get back to the wedding soon. 

By the time Nancy and Frank are free to go, it’s dark and the tent where the reception is being held is bursting with light, music, and raucous laughter. They stroll idly down the candle-lit path, taking their time.

“I can’t believe we solved a mystery at Joe’s wedding.” Nancy sighs, her voice alight with humor and incredulation. 

“We’re really a walking cliche, aren’t we?” Frank deadpans and it isn’t long before the duo are doubled over laughing, holding onto each other for support. 

Nancy comes back to herself first. “Oh - oh my god, Frank, this is all he’s gonna talk about for the rest of...forever, really.”

“God, he’s never gonna let us live it down.” He gets out, still guffawing slightly but not pulling away from her shoulder. She glances up at him, watching the candlelight flicker across his features. He’s older now - they both are. But they’re both here, at _Joe’s wedding_ of all places and Frank -

Well, Frank kept his promise. They’re okay. And that’s all Nancy can really ask for. 

“I -” He starts and stops as they finally reach the tent. Nancy hasn’t seen him this flustered since they were kids, but she bites back the teasing that’s on the tip of her tongue. “Save me a dance?”

He looks so hopeful, so unlike the Frank Hardy that she knows now. For a second, she can see the old him transposed over the new - no, not new. Better? No, different. More himself than he’s ever been. 

“A dance?” She mock gasps, only if for the smile it teases from him. “Oh, what will the office say about me - the _boss_ \- dancing with a _lowly_ data analyst.” 

Frank rolls his eyes dramatically, pulling the tent flap back. “You know, you’re worse than Joe sometimes.”

“You take that back, Franklin -” She starts, but cuts off abruptly as she takes in the scene before them. Fairy lights flow back and forth across the ceiling, forming criss-crossing patterns of light that reflect divinely off the vases filled to the brim with a myriad of flowers. She feels like she’s walked into a fairytale.

“Damn.” Frank whispers, seemingly as awestruck as she feels. They’d both been part of the wedding planning, but the final product?

Well, it was a sight to behold.

And in the middle of it, Joe and Iola twirling across the dance floor gracefully - far more gracefully than Nancy could have ever pegged for Joseph Hardy - as a soft instrumental plays. Nancy looks around the tent, sees Fenton and Laura Hardy swaying just off the dance floor, sees her own father tapping his feet next to them, sees her friends, sees them all -

And then sees Frank Hardy next to her. Frank Hardy, who sees her as well. And for once, Nancy is not scared. She is not afraid to be seen, as she has in the past. Least of all by him. Frank has always been her open book, her mirror through which to see herself. 

She’s not afraid to see herself anymore. She wants to see. And wants to be seen. 

***

Nancy’s done her appropriate laps, said hello and goodbye to all the relevant people, and even had a dance with her dad, Fenton, AND Joe. So, at this point, she’s kind of desperate to find Frank - if only so she can lean on him to take some of the pressure off of her aching feet. She regrets giving chase early. Stupid Ryan Wessley. 

It’s after another two rounds around the dance floor - and another glass of wine in her grasp, thank you very much - that she spots him across the tent, talking to two brunettes. She pushes her way over (this is only her third glass, _thank you very much_ ) and stops behind the trio. 

“Frank! I’ve been looking for you.” She adopts what she hopes to be a non-forced smile, which quickly transforms into shock as the two brunettes turn at her voice.

“Nancy, hi! It’s been so long.” Callie Shaw grabs Nancy gently by the shoulders and pulls her into a hug. Which is quite difficult to do over her enormously protruding stomach. Callie Shaw. Pregnant Callie Shaw in front of her. Okay.

“Callie - uh, hi, yes. Wow, sorry it’s just -” Nancy starts and, wow if she tried to tell someone she was a detective right now they’d be hard pressed to believe her. She can’t seem to drag her eyes up, and oh my God, Nancy, NANCY -

“I am absurdly pregnant, I know.” Nancy’s eyes snap up at her words, but all she sees is a humorous smile on the woman’s face as she lets one hand drift down to hold her stomach. “It’s hard not to notice when I’m walking around tummy first. It’s a hazard, really.” 

She chuckles and Nancy finally lets out a breath, echoing the other woman’s warm smile. “That’s amazing though, you - you do look amazing, like I’m a little jealous.” This rips a full-blown laugh out of Callie, who jumps slightly as the other man in their group rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh my - sorry, wow, I’m being so rude. Nancy, this is my partner Liam. Liam, this is -”

“- the infamous Nancy Drew, I can assume?” Liam finishes smoothly, holding out a hand in Nancy’s direction. 

“Not sure how I feel about infamous…” She jokes and Frank finally seems to remember he’s also part of this conversation.

“I don’t know, sounds pretty accurate to me, Nan.” He sends her an easy smile and she feels any residual tension drain from her body. We’re okay. This day is okay. We’re here with pregnant Callie Shaw and we’re all okay. “I’m so sorry to cut this short Callie, but I was promised a dance and I’m not sure how many more we’re gonna have here, what with…”

Frank trails off as the four of them turn to watch Joe and Iola, obviously having taken advantage of the open bar, dancing raunchily to whatever pop song was playing.

“That’s your best friend.” Frank accuses.

“That’s your brother.” Callie states plainly.

“Touche,” is all he can articulate before pulling Nancy towards the frankly disturbing sight before them. Before long, though, the song transforms into a folksy ballad and she feels him softly take her wrists and wrap them around his neck as his own follow suit around her waist. She takes a deep breath, the first in what feels like ages. She notes she does that a lot more now - noticing her breathing. Realizing it’s easier when he’s around. The thought makes her smile.

“What?” Frank’s question is soft against her ear.

She sighs. “Just happy.” And she is. She can’t believe it’s as simple as that. 

“Oh. Good.” He retreats back to look at her. “Me too.” She pulls him back in tightly to hide her grin. “You know, Callie said she’s happy we finally - and I quote - ‘got our shit together and _banged it out._ ’”

This time it’s Nancy who pulls back sharply, sputtering and looking around as if Callie had been the one to say the words directly to her. “What?!” Frank shrugs, but he doesn’t let the smug smirk drop from his face. She smacks him on the shoulder. “You ass, what did you say!”

“Nothing, I swear!” He uses her bewilderment to grab her loose hand, deftly intertwining their fingers and slotting their bodies closer, his other hand dipping dangerously low on her back. She side-eyes him. “You know, sometimes I really wonder if we’re as good detectives as we think we are.”

Nancy scoffs. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty excellent. I don’t know if you heard, but I’m _infamous._ ”

Frank groans and leans back. “Gah, I told him not to tell you that! I said it’d just go to this big head of yours!” At that, he releases her hand and clasps her head, shaking ever so slightly. Nancy lets out a big laugh and grabs his hands, fighting back against his ribbing. 

Finally they settle back together, but there’s barely any room between the two of them. And now she can’t seem to take her eyes off of his. He’s easier here, with his family all around, with the threat neutralized and everyone accounted for. It makes her dizzy for second, how happy she is to see him happy. And how she knows, deep in her gut, that he feels the same about her. 

Nancy stops their slight swaying and Frank sends her a questioning glance. “I know we’re at Joe’s wedding, and I know we haven’t talked that much about it talking to people - and you can totally say no if you’re not okay with it - but…” She takes a deep breath. “But I’d really like to kiss you right now, Frank.”

He blinks once.

Twice.

Then Frank Hardy grins.

And then he takes Nancy Drew’s face in his hands and kisses her the way he’s been wanting to since they woke up that morning, before he had to sneak out of her hotel room and go wake up his brother for his wedding.

“Ooh, pay UP Joseph!” A squeal comes from behind Nancy, so loud and close she has no choice but to pull away. As she turns, she comes face to face with a delighted Iola and a bewildered Joe.

“Oh come on, this is bullshit!” Joe’s shoulders slump as he takes out his wallet - seemingly from nowhere - and plucks out a twenty dollar bill, placing it dejectedly into his waiting wife’s hand, who takes it gleefully and folds it into her bra. 

Nancy blinks.

“What.” Frank manages to articulate for the both of them.

“I bet Joe you’d reveal your ‘secret relationship’ by the end of the night.” Iola beams and then turns swiftly on her heel, most likely to go share the news with Callie.

“I didn’t think you’d do it at _my_ wedding, come on man.” Joe throws an arm around Frank’s shoulder, pulling him down closer. Frank grimaces but Nancy can’t help the smile starting to form slowly. “Like, it’s _my day_. And you already arrested someone, so like - give me a break.”

Frank manages to disentangle himself from his intoxicated brother. “Wait...did you know?”

Joe looks amusedly at him. “Ha-ha, Frank, so funny.” His smile starts to drop as his gaze flickers between the two detectives. “Are you...are you serious?” Joe’s mouth falls open as Frank just shrugs. “You two are so god damn obvious, Frank! I was trying to be respectful and wait for you to tell ME, your one true and perfect brother!”

The older Hardy slaps the other on the back comfortingly, pity written on his face. “Aw, I’m sorry lil bro. Next time.”

“Next time?” Nancy cocks her head and blinks repeatedly at Frank, who immediately flushes and starts shaking his head.

“No, wait - not next time, like with someone else -” Nancy starts to back away, obviously amused by the entire situation. Her retreat is surprisingly aided by Joe as he latches back onto Frank.

“Did you two - did you really think I didn’t know?!” Joe blubbers endlessly.

Finally, Frank extricates himself (again) from the man’s grasp and catches up to Nancy, linking his arms around her waist. “You know, I didn’t mean it right?”

“Mhm, we’ll see Mr. ‘Next Time’.” Nancy teases, giggling lightly as he twirls her around to face him.

He grins at her. “I meant like next time, if I do something crazy. Like, propose or something…” Frank stops, swallowing, as if he forgot who he was talking to.

But she’s quick to remind him. “Uh, not if I propose first, dummy.”

Joe’s voice is the overwhelming symphony to their kiss.

“CAN YOU TWO PLEASE STOP FORGETTING I’M ALSO A DETECTIVE, THANKS.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know I wrote a ND/FH fic, but Joe Hardy is my fav character.
> 
> Also, this is my first time publishing any kind of fic, so any feedback would be so appreciated.


End file.
